


Hurricane

by TimelessRiver



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, M/M, Poetic, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Purple Prose, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessRiver/pseuds/TimelessRiver
Summary: Will thought about how easy it would be for Hannibal to use such an environment to his advantage; how easy it would be to wring his neck and drain the life from his veins as he did to so many before him, and cast his unwanted remains out to sea.Were there any parts of Will that Hannibal did not want?Hannibal was much like the sea in that he, too, was an unrelenting force of nature to be reckoned with. In the arms of the sea, there are no regrets; there is no forgiveness, nor hope to be tainted by with poison.“There’s not much that separates you now from who you were then, Hannibal. You think that by—by getting to the heart of me, you can undo the image of yourself starving while alone in the snow all those years ago... But to be honest, I don’t think that you ever stopped.”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> I... was not expecting to become as invested in _Hannibal_ as I am, so I couldn't resist writing at least something small after finishing Season 3 last night with a pal. Inspired by Vaults' song _Hurricane_ because I couldn't resist writing something music-driven. Hopefully I managed to capture their personalities well enough, and I'll admit that the prospect of doing so was a little intimidating. Still, it was fun to try to get into these guys' heads for a little while!

__

_You're holding on  
Just to feel something that hurts  
You're loveless  
And the blood that drains  
From your fingers to the ground  
Leaves you heartless_

_And I feel like we're letting go  
As my white flag hits the ground  
And everyone feels the same  
Picked up and thrown by a hurricane_

Perhaps it became easier to greet death as a friend when faced with its inevitability more often than one ever should. Will didn’t know when the lines that separated luck from inevitability began to blur, but this was hardly the time to question it.  
Not with bodies more scar tissue than skin.  
Not with lungs more sea water than air.

Will’s ears were ringing and any trickle of light was still too much against his closed eyes. He could simultaneously hear everything and nothing at all; his head pounding in time with his heart.  
“—Ill? Will?”  
He felt the patting of a hand against his cheek and the frantic force of another against his chest that was undoubtedly bruised from his companion’s rescue attempt. Will sputtered and shifted in place as he tried in vain to sit upright, but his body betrayed him. Bruised ribs and what felt like a broken ankle being the most of his penance would be livable if not for Hannibal’s badgering—that, too, a suffering in its own rite.

“You have quite a view from above, Doctor.”

“Yes; perhaps we could revisit my cliffside view under more favorable circumstances if time permits.” Will couldn’t see Hannibal’s face and wasn’t ready to open his eyes again, lest the illusion crack beneath the weight of their gaze on one another and finally—truly—acknowledging the reality of their position. The fairytales always spoke of the grandeur of the dragon’s defeat, but rarely the aftermath; though, they were alive which means that the story must still be writing itself.

“Can you see anything at all, Will?”

“I don’t know; I haven’t tried. What about you? Are there any parts of you that are broken or missing?”

Hannibal stifled a laugh at the irony of such a question, but humored him anyway.

“No more than you, I suppose, and if anything I should be grateful to the powers that be for returning you to me after my transgressions.”

“Do my ears deceive me or is that regret that I detect in your tone, Doctor?”

“Not regret so much as a stating of facts, my clever boy. Only time will tell if I may live to reap the fruits of my labor.”

Hannibal held Will’s body as stably as he could on the coarse ground. Will felt a hand stroking along his scalp, through his unruly curls and down the back of his neck. He’d still yet to open his eyes and Hannibal continued to punctuate his speech with touches that gave him all the more reason not to. Will reached for Hannibal’s hand to still his ministrations. There was still too much unspoken between them to allow this moment to obscure the truth.

“What do we make of this? Is this a truce?”

“Do you want it to be a truce, Will?”

“Well, do you forgive me of my transgressions?”

There was a pause before Hannibal spoke as if he were weighing the benefits against the cons. He gently pulled his wrist from Will’s hold enough to center it on his chest; thumb working lazy circles in place.

“If I were to forgive you, that’d mean I must hope that you are sincere in your intent toward me. Hope is like forgiveness, but with venom.”

“A venom that will only hurt you, I imagine.”

“Yes; a great sacrifice to my wellbeing if I can never truly know you.”

Will cinched his brows at this. Hannibal was still little more than an enigma that plagued his waking hours just as often as he plagued his nightmares, but even he was not foolish enough to overlook the words gone unspoken in that statement. Of all the people in Hannibal’s life who were worthy of forgiveness and spared wrath, how many were granted it? Will placed his hand atop Hannibal’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Do you want to hurt me, Hannibal? Crack me open bone-by-bone to see exactly how I bend and bleed?”

“There was a time when I thought that was the only way that I could ever reach the heart of you, Will.”

“And through my flesh and heart, you’d carry me with you forever, right?”

“That is right.”

Will thought about how easy it would be for Hannibal to use such an environment to his advantage; how easy it would be to wring his neck and drain the life from his veins as he did to so many before him, and cast his unwanted remains out to sea.  
Were there any parts of Will that Hannibal did not want?  
Hannibal was much like the sea in that he, too, was an unrelenting force of nature to be reckoned with. In the arms of the sea, there are no regrets; there is no forgiveness, nor hope to be tainted by with poison.

“There’s not much that separates you now from who you were then, Hannibal. You think that by—by getting to the heart of me, you can undo the image of yourself starving while alone in the snow all those years ago... But to be honest, I don’t think that you ever stopped.”

“You seem rather certain of yourself for someone who still understands so little of me, Will.”

“I understand enough.”

“Very well; then you will understand my intent when I ask you to lie perfectly still, keep your eyes closed, and do not open them. I will know if you do.” Will bristled at this but quickly regained his composure; focusing instead on the crashing of the waves on the shore and the distinct scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen. There was a storm brewing in the distance; that he knew, for sure. Hannibal moved the hand lying on Will’s chest to the junction where his neck met his shoulder and stroked with his thumb idly before leaning forward to press his lips to Will’s jaw. Hannibal paused at first, giving Will time to once again fall slack in his hold before gradually trailing down his throat to his collarbone to taste the salt-washed skin from the ocean water. Will felt the graze of teeth—more like a threat than a promise—and his pulse quickened like a lamb’s when caught between the claws of a lion. Years of surviving the beast’s tactics had taught him that Hannibal had no interest in doing away with him—not just yet; though, he’d be lying to no one but himself if he didn’t acknowledge the thrill of wading to and fro from the brink of death in teeth & claws like Hannibal’s. The next breath is always the sweetest, but the heady thought of sharing in Hannibal’s breath—lips against his—was too intoxicating not to consider. An experiment best saved for a time when Will could properly reciprocate such a gesture.

“I think I prefer you like this, Will: Soft and alive so I may observe how you perform under the right stimulus.”

“Are you not just as affected by the right stimulus, Doctor Lecter?”

“Still adhering to formalities, I take it. I thought that perhaps we were beyond that.”

“May I open my eyes, now?” Will wouldn’t dignify Hannibal’s psychological game of cat & mouse, but for once he felt as though he could have some sense of control in this moment if he played his cards right. Hannibal hummed before muttering a clipped “yes” beneath his breath. Will opened his eyes—blinking away the debris caught in his lashes—before scrubbing his fingers through them and sitting upright. A wave of pain seared through his side, but Hannibal’s steady hand on his back prevented him from doubling over.  
“You’re quite bruised from the fall, and with an injured ankle, but a few weeks of proper rest ought to do well for you.” Hannibal spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but Will has learned that no kindness from Hannibal comes without a price. How much more could he bear to give that hasn’t been taken from him already?

“And what about you, huh? You hit the water just as hard as I did.”

“My back is quite sore—likely from a pulled muscle—with pain in my shoulders and neck. I, too, should be fine in time.”

Will nodded and turned to face Hannibal properly. He was no worse for wear than he was; both clad in torn clothing, scars from their Red Dragon ordeal, and smeared blood from cuts & scrapes from the jagged rocks they were whipped against out at sea. Will had little memory of the events that unfolded after their fall, but Hannibal was nothing if not resilient and had ensured their survival despite everything. Will placed his hand on Hannibal’s cheek without hesitation. Hannibal’s eyes widened a fraction that would be unnoticeable to anyone else but Will, and that thought alone filled him with a sense of pride. Hannibal turned his nose into Will’s hand before placing a kiss to his palm. He lingered in a way that made Will think that he feared he’d never get to do such a thing.

“Come on; let’s get out of here. There’s no way we can afford to stay while there’s a storm heading this way.”

“Very well, we can go; though, I might offer my assistance. You should take care not to put anymore strain on that ankle than necessary.”

Will nodded and shifted so that he could wrap an arm around Hannibal’s shoulders for balance while Hannibal bore the rest of his weight with an arm on Will’s waist. Together they rose and walked until their feet touched the water, and stood. Lightning struck in the distance and illuminated the angry tide before a crack of thunder sounded. “I’m afraid the gods are angry with us,” Hannibal chuckled. “I doubt we’ll be escaping the fray unscathed by the hurricane at this rate.”

“You never cared much for the whims of God before, so why now?”

“Oh, of course. What is God if not the first cornerstone of morality we learn to trespass against?”

“And you think that this is our comeuppance?”

“No, Will. If this were any sort of reckoning, the sea would’ve swallowed you whole and scattered my bones across its rocks.”

“Is that your sanctimonious way of telling me that you’d die without me?” Will leaned his head against Hannibal’s shoulder and wasn’t bothered when he didn’t receive an answer. He didn’t need one.  
Will made a silent promise to commit this place to only the finest chamber of his own memory palace: The sharp scent of the ocean breeze, the warmth from the stoic man beside him, and the clap of thunder that humbled him.

The two established a rhythm and began their trek along the bank; the water lapping at their ankles. Hannibal couldn’t help but think of how poetic this was: Obstinate, empathetic Will who—like the sea—could not bear separation from the shore.  
Will—like the sea—who would always return to him.


End file.
